The 74th Love Games
by NessaPoo
Summary: Katniss Snow is the 16 year old granddaughter of President Coriolanus Snow of Panem. When Peeta Mellark is selected as a District 12 tribute for the 74th annual Hunger Games, Katniss discovers feelings she didn't know existed... for the boy with a death sentence and for what she is willing to do for her country. This is a collaborative work between NessaPoo and WinterRose02.


**Disclaimer: We do not own** _ **The Hunger Games**_ **, sad as that is. All rights go to Suzanne Collins.**

" **Then I started to realize, I was living one big lie,"- "She Hates Me", Puddle of Mudd.**

 **Chapter One**

My head hurts. It might be from the party last night, with the loud music and large crowd. Or it could be from the drinks I sneaked (an extra amount then what I was allowed-5). I lost count after 16 drinks. They weren't in any way small either.

No. It's not the noise or the drinks, and I know that. My stomach starts to do flips and my skin starts to crawl. The pounding in my head increases.

Despite the pain, I lift my legs off of the bed and stand up. I hesitate, but then I walk to the window and draw open the ceiling to floor length curtains. My breath hitches as I look as I look ahead as far as I can. Servants are cleaning the grounds and other Capitol workers clean the city streets. This happens every year, the same exact scene- I start to think about what is making me feel sick. The pounding and crawling and flip flops quicken; a band that visits every anniversary. This is the day of the reaping.

I run to the adjoining bathroom and sink to my knees. I barely have time to pull back my long brunette curls before the contents of my stomach travel up my throat. I sit there for a few minutes and then I get undressed. My trained eyes and fingers push the right buttons and soon I am soaked. I open my mouth and look up; I rinse my mouth and stick out my tongue, burning the taste of vomit away.

I hear knocks at the door when I turn off the spray and step out of the bathroom wearing a white plush robe with golden letters- KS- embroidered on the left side. "Come in!" I say loudly, not cheery at all.

But, of course my three maids breeze in, very cheery. Octavia, Venia, and Flavia have been my maids since I was born; still, I am never comfortable being naked in front of them. I don't feel that it's normal.

Venia frowns at me, her extensive eyelashes casting downwards. "Take off the robe Katniss. We need to dress you."

I sit on a pedestal in front of a dresser with a matching mirror, waiting for the outfit that will no doubt make me stand out.

Black flats with a bow at each shoe toe are thrust in my face. "Beautiful, aren't they? And they go fabulously with the dress!" Octavia exclaims. I turn and look at what Venia is holding out to me. She wants me to admire it, but I don't feel like mooning over clothes today. Just for her benefit though I stare at the dress from the round neck to the light ruffles at the bottom. The dress is a dark purple with long sleeves that are fit to my arm and wrist measurements. Venia turns the dress so I can see the lace embroidered roses covering the back.

"It's... fabulous," I say, because if I say anything else, they might burst into tears.

I dress-well they dress me- into the wardrobe and I sit on my pedestal again. All three of them swoon over my dark waterfall cascading to my mid back. They fashion my hair in a bun, save for a few strands framing each side of my face. Again I stand and each girl smooths out a part of my dress. "Thank you," I look into all of their eyes. They nod and follow me out of the room to the dining room. Flavia opens one of the large wooden doors and I walk through. I won't see them again until tonight when I have to change into my evening attire.

I sit in my redwood chair and do not make eye contact with Celestia, nor Coriolanus Snow, my sister and grandfather. Celestia wears a dark purple dress as well, but her dress has puffed polyester sleeves and from what I can tell flows out in a big ring around her from her waist to the floor. Black embroidered roses cover the top section all around. Her hair is longer than mine and curled, with a black headband topped with three dark purple roses. My grandfather wears a bright white shirt with buttons down the front and white pants with matching socks. His shoes are golden with thick soles, and they go with his golden suit jacket over his shirt. A black rose is tuck to the front left side of his suit jacket.

They don't speak to me, but I don't bother to see if they look at me. We always do this: sit in silence for a few minutes, my granddad and sister talk to one another, and then my granddad tries to engage me in a conversation.

"You look magnificent darling," he begins.

"Thank you. Cinna's assistant made it since he's on a business trip right now."

"Ahh," he says, as if _he_ would be interested in anything _I_ have to say, "Are you girls ready?" he stands, not waiting for either of us to respond. We stand as well and walk on either side of him. Wide, tall oak doors open up to an amazingly huge balcony. We sit in our respective seats, granddad in a taller back chair and Celestia and I in the same fashioned chairs, but a few inches shorter.

Hundreds, possibly thousands of people stand before stand before us. The point of our appearances is to make us look innocent, more likable to the people of Panem. Applause and cheers ring through the air, plus many more, I assume, in the Capitol homes. We sit there, not waving or looking at any of them. Our faces are to the screens surrounding us.

The square of District One soon appears on the screen. The mayor stands at a podium and starts to read the same speech all of the district's mayors read every year. He tells the history of Panem and talks of the disasters and the war; the result being Panem. He talks about the Dark Days, the uprising of the districts against the Capitol. Lastly comes the Treaty of Treason that gave us the Hunger Games.

I sit through the reaping's, watching mothers cry for their children, fathers stare blankly in shock. I hear laughter and more applause from the Capitol people as tributes are called; more celebratory noises when there's a volunteer.

The setting becomes sadder with every district. Before I know it, 22 tributes have already been picked. Then the cameras reach District 12.

Swearing in my head, I try to block out the last speech. I can't wait for this to be over. But then, if this is over, that means I'm one step closer to witnessing deaths of children, some younger than me.

I zone back in to the screens, District 12's mayor reading the list of past District 12 victors. Haymitch Abernathy is the only one to remain, and he looks horrible. Disgusting. Like a Hunger Games victor.

Taking a look at Effie Trinket I feel bad for whoever the two District 12 tributes will be. Her wig is ugly, her clothes... ugly. Her over powdered face and bright eye shadow give off a clown effect that makes my eyes hurt just looking at her.

She seems too preppy. Too out of place. When she walks over to the glass bowl to draw a name for the girl tribute, her heels on the stage is the only thing everyone hears. She returns to the middle of the stage and smooths the paper and reads the name. Primrose Everdeen.


End file.
